Beyond Words
by IndigoProphecy
Summary: Struggling with cancer, Rafflesia finds escape in an old journal she had found in the attic. She spends her last days in the thoughts of an unusual boy named Artemis Fowl, caught up in his world as he tries to understand the full magnitude of his love for an elf called Holly Short.
1. one

Every chapter of this fiction is in two parts: the part of Rafflesia (which is a minority) and the part of Artemis' journal. If you have no interest at all on my OC, please feel free to skip it and go directly to Artemis' journal entry which is italicized and in first person (obviously). But do give her a try, at least in this chapter.

*The events in Artemis' journal refers to the sneak-peek to The Last Guardian from USA Today and the TLG summary at goodreads(dot)com

** 1**

**One**

The attic felt magical, and the black, leather-bound notebook she had just found felt even more so. This little adventure to the storage room felt a little like discovering the Wardrobe to Narnia. Her mother had always shaken her head at Raffles' alacrity to books and adventures and magic, which Rafflesia's two older brothers never possessed.

The notebook was worn. You could tell that fingers had thumbed through its filled pages a hundred times. Actual _paper_ pages! Rafflesia had seen authentic paper only once, but it was only a single sheet and behind a glass display. This time, the pages weren't restricted in a glass cabinet; she was holding the wondrous thing in her hands. The paper felt velvety and smooth under her fingers, and she could feel the ridges where the writer had penned his letters too hard.

One look at the thick journal, Rafflesia immediately knew it was special. It was more than special, it was mud man. The beautiful lines and swirls were obviously not the rough polygons of Gnommish letters. She had always been fascinated with the human English alphabet. The words on the notebook were even more captivating because it was written in such an elegant, neat script. All the i's were carefully dotted and the loops of the g's and y's went all the way up.

Clutching the notebook and dragging her oxygen tank, the elf made her way towards the light of the small window. The sim-sun's rays, barely penetrating the dusty, moldy glass, was the only source of light in the attic and it struggled to illuminate the small, cramp room.

"_May 27, 2008" _she murmured to no one. More than fifty years ago, fifty-four to be exact.

The bare whisper was difficult for her suck-ish lungs. The dust in the storage room was not helping at all. Cancer cells are all over her body, but lately they insisted on making her lungs the headquarters. Adjusting her breathing tube, the elf squinted her eyes (which is, thankfully, still cancer free) and tried to read the first diary entry in the dim light.

_May 27, 2008_

_It had been a week since the undead fairy warriors have left my brothers' bodies. It had been a week since young Opal Koboi have been restored to her respective time stream. The universe seems at right again. I am convinced life would be fairly quiet from now on. The last chain of events have a finality about it. This time, I am certain the fairy-adventure, save-the-world chapter in my life has come to a close. _

_Thus, it is time to open a new one. And while I am on this overused metaphor of chapters and life, I have no intentions of leaving out fairies in the new chapter. In fact, I intend that fairies would be part of my life until the very end of this book. They are such an immense part of my life that they are no longer my friends. They are my family. Sometimes I already feel more fairy than human._

_Of course, I say fairies but really, there is only one fairy I can not even begin to fathom life without. _

_On the outside, it is quite strange that I am using a mundane – not to mention unsecure (like a digital diary can be safe with that blasted centaur) –handwritten journal. I must confess that my reasons why I am using an ordinary moleskin notebook and pen are entirely wistful and illogical. It's just, it feels right to see my thoughts in ink, especially thoughts so close to the heart. _

_Yes, it is uncharacteristic of me to do things by feel rather than precise calculation. Lately, I find myself more inclined to give in to emotional impulses and unproven instincts, especially when it comes to Holly Short._

_Let my logical deductions and schemes be recorded on my digital diary and video journal. In this notebook, I intend to record all my thoughts about Holly and finally unravel its meanings. Now that the gun shots and the time tunnels have subsided, there is nothing to distract me to the obvious truth. I am in no denial or under any illusion, unlike most average teenage boys. I have accepted that I am attracted to Holly, at the very least. _

_Flinchingly, I know I have been caught up with her ever since the coin that changed everything. Before, I have always passed it off as blasted puberty which insists to be felt despite my efforts, but now it insults me to call my connection to Holly hormonal. Could this be an infatuation? An eight-year-long (or five, if I do not count my lost years) withstanding infatuation is unlikely._

_It is certainly much more than a mundane teenage tendency. I'm just not sure how much more, exactly._

"Raffles!" The door opened, letting in more light from the hallway. Mum's silhouette cast a long shadow on the box-strewn floor. Mum, seeing Rafflesia huddled by the window, tatted in worry. "What this dust is doing to your lungs! What ever possessed you to hide out in this attic, I don't know."

Mum always called the storage room attic, even though fairy residences ceased to have attics since the Taillte Wars aboveground. Raffles and her two elder brothers picked up the habit, and the small cupboard on the second floor has been known and referred to as "attic" ever since time memoriam. Mum was an expert at calling things names that weren't their real names.

"Relax, mum. I put the filter in before going in here." The young elf stood up from her crouch.

"Dr. Canter is here. He's been waiting for an hour, Raffles. I've been looking for you everywhere! Worried sick. Don't you dare do that again to me, you–"

"What? He isn't due to come until next week!" Rafflesia dreaded the doctor and his examinations. She dreaded anything that would remind her of her worthless body which insists on being sick.

Raffles walked slowly towards the door, while her huffing mother rushed to help her with her tank. It was always a big deal when Dr. Canter came. They lived a few miles from Haven City, in a humbled village tucked away in one of the scattered cave pockets in the Earth's mantle. The nearest transportation to main civilization, the Lower Elements Shuttle, was a one hour hovercraft ride away. Then it was a one hour ride to the nearest platform of the Stick, which brings them to Haven Central in ten minutes. That's why the specialist doctor, paid for by her brother's LEP wages, comes only once a month from San D' Klass Hospital in Haven.

"I'll take the tank, mum. You go and fuss on Canter's mustache. I'll go grab something in my room and follow you down." Mummy frowned, familiar and disappointed with the way Raffles made fun of her specialist.

"_Doctor_ Canter, dear" She gave the tank to Rafflesia, anyways, and departed down the stairs.

Once her mother disappeared, she reopened the journal and skimmed to where she had stopped reading. Apparently, she had already finished the first entry. All there was is the writer's name, written in the same graceful hand.

_Artemis Fowl II_

"Raffles!" Mum called from downstairs. This time, her voice was already a little shrill. "Dr. Canter is asking for you, dear."

She chucked the closed journal under the rug, finding no other place to put it. Raffles, with her tank, made her way down the stairs. As the heavy oxygen tank went _tug tug tug _at each step, her mind drifted faraway, dwelling on the strange mud boy who felt more fairy than human and the elfin girl that made him feel so.

xxxxxx

**A/N: **I think I should mention that I got this idea from the fanfiction **Holly's Diary by einstinette**. Why shouldn't Artemis have a diary too, especially when he already has one in cannon! I based the journals on Artemis' diaries in **TEC**. I really enjoyed Artemis' POVs in TEC, despite TEC being the weakest book in AF in my opinion. I'm also slightly worried that **Artemis is a tiny bit OOC**, but I'm passing that off as love…? Hahaha. If you think I should publish this just as the diary and cut off Rafflesia's part, do say so. But I have lots of plans for Rafflesia. You could always skip her parts.

Also, I want everyone to know that I got the idea of dying cancer survivors being dependent in old mysterious journals from various books, namely: **The Prophecy of the Stones** by Flavia Bujor, **The Fault in our Stars** by John Greene and **Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets** by JK Rowling (Riddle's diary and Ginny)

**Review** on what you think!


	2. two

Again, you could skip Rafflesia's part and go directly to Artemis' journal, which is in italics and is headed by a date.

**2**

**two**

"We have new information on your case, Rafflesia. That's why I came earlier than my scheduled visit." Dr. Canter said, his mustache vibrating with his voice.

The young elf frowned, vaguely registering what the doctor had said; everyone calls her Raffles. Nobody calls her Rafflesia except the doctor, despite her pestering. Her mind reluctantly let go of the journal hidden under the rug upstairs and focused on the centaur.

Ever since she turned thirty four years ago, the doctor deemed the elf mature enough to "handle the truth" and addresses Raffles during consultations. She was absolutely sure it was Mum who put Dr. Canter up to it. She knew they were both concerned on her lack of interest on her sickness. The truth was she want as little to do with her illness as possible.

"Yipee." Raffles said, her voice expressionless. "So tell me doctor, what's new with my cancer!"

She watched gleefully as Dr. Canter's tail swished in annoyance. He hated it when she calls her sickness cancer. No fairies get cancer. Cancer is a human disease. Fairy cells just don't reproduce as abnormal like that. Heck, they reproduce so slowly that all fairies are around three feet tall. The centaur finds it insulting that people mistake his specialization in something so _human_.

"Your affliction, Rafflesia, is _not_ c-cancer. Your cells just so happen to-"

"-reproduce so fast due to rapid mitotic division." Raffles recited faithfully. She had already memorized that sentence. The doctor stated it every time she mentions cancer.

"Well, yes." Dr. Canter said, professionally oblivious to Raffles' whining tone. "I think you ought to know, that it is caused-"

"-by my weirdo genes. Because my ma's chromosomes and my da's chromosomes failed to bind during meiosis when I was conceived." Mum gripped Raffles' hand, warning her to keep her manners. She just hated Dr. Canter and his horsy mustache so much. What was she supposed to call her disease then? The doctor said she was the first fairy in medical history afflicted with such malfunction in cell growth. In other words, she was a freak who's 10 inches taller than the average elfin height.

"Well, yes." Dr. Canter said again, blinking. "The new development, Rafflesia, is that your scan results came out yesterday."

"You could've just e-mailed the results, doctor, and saved us the–" Raffles said bitterly.

"Nonsense, dear." Mum smiled nauseatingly at the indifferent centaur."I'm sorry, Dr. Canter. Raffles and I are very thankful you took the effort to come all the way here."

"Why, Ms. Poppy, it was your son that told me to go here. He thought his sister might want to hear the developments personally." Dr. Canter stated, while getting the v-cube holding the scan results. Not that he needed it anyways. On the three-hour trip here, the centaur read and reread to memorization the sad data on the envelope. He had taken care of the frail elf since her infancy, watching the girl stay aloof from her body's limitations throughout all those years. She had lived far longer than any human cancer patient there was. He had hoped…

"Raffles." He said, addressing her as such for the first time in thirty-four years. "The data from the scan…the rate the cells are reproducing in your lungs…by my calculations…based on the various, reliable studies…very much reliable…"

Dr. Canter's uncharacteristic stuttering held Raffles' attention. For the first time today, she totally forgot the human boy and his Coin that Changed Everything.

"I'm afraid you only have a month to live, maximum."

Leaving her oxygen tank, Raffles was out of the living room before her mother could muster a sob.

xxxxxx

_May 30, 2008_

_I remember the first time I saw Holly Short as if it was yesterday._

Struggling to pump air in her lungs, Rafflesia locked the door to her room and connected her nose tubes to a spare tank under her bed. The rough cover of the journal in her hand gave her more comfort than the air pumped into her lungs. She needed to forget that last statement of the doctor. Forget the deadline. All that exists is Artemis Fowl, his peculiar comments about time tunnels and his amusing cluelessness towards Holly Short.

_It was during the gloomiest period of my dark childhood. My father is missing, presumed dead, in the cold waters of Russia. My mother is driven insane with grief, not even recognizing her own son. The Fowl Empire is crumbling, and I barely have time to look at its ruins. It was worse compared to what I had endured in the previous years as a child of a ruthless Fowl. I, a mere ten-year-old boy, was pushed to the limits of my capabilities. As my dear mother Angeline waste away in the attic, I struggled keep the family business afloat. I needed money to fund the search for my father – or for my father's corpse._

_The night I saw her for the first time was the night after my first profit._

_I had sold the last lemur of its species to a cult twice as derange as my mother. It had produced enough profit to fund a Russia expedition for years. I remember thinking then that even though I felt no tugging conscience or even an inkling of guilt for exterminating an animal totally, the endeavor must have rocked my subconscious to the core because that night, I dreamt. Surely, only a powerful emotion such as guilt can trigger such unearthly pictures from my subconscious._

_Despite this explanation, the dream fascinated me. It was surreal yet so real. It was important; I felt it to my soul. _

_Looking back, I know now what truly transpired in that dream. But then, I remember waking up totally content. I had struggled to recall my already fading dream, desperately hanging on to the details. The red sparks in my vision were not helping. I only managed to hold on to snatches: a flash of dye vats, the screeching of animals, a tunnel-like void. As the day progressed, I had slowly forgotten the few flimsy pieces of the dream that I had managed to commit to my memory; my mind was already focused on a new conquest._

_By the end of the day, I only remembered a face. I remembered _her_ face, almost ethereal. I was absolutely sure that her features were part of the clairvoyant dream. I never forgot the caramel skin, scarred by untold battles; her determined lips, perfect as the moon; the dash of auburn framing her features. Of course, there were Holly's eyes, one a Fowl blue and one the softest hazel. They were mesmerizing, enchanting._

_For the following months, I had dwelled in that face. But her eyes were a different story. The gentle hazel and piercing blue haunted me for the whole of my ten-year-old life. It haunts me until now, eight years later even if the same eyes now stare back at me from the mirror._

_That is what Holly Short is: a vivid dream too beautiful to be real. Sometimes I can't help wondering if she really is a dream. If that is the case, I never want to wake up._

How she wished this was a dream, too. Her life is one horrible nightmare. All her life she had tried to avoid the truth of her sickness and that tactless doctor shoved it into her face along with a deadline. Even as she tried her might to focus on Holly the Dream, her one month keeps on coming back.

It was obvious that Artemis Fowl loved Holly Short, even if he doesn't know it yet. As the loud rush of oxygen lulled her to a sleep, Raffles can't help but wonder if love was really real and if she had time in her one month to prove its existence.

xxxxxx

**A/N: **Please do pardon the sudden change of title. I suck at titles and had come up with the original title just seconds before uploading. After thinking about it long and hard, the new title, **Beyond Words**, will be the title of this fic forever. It's pretty self explanatory, and more appropriate for the fic rather than The Lie of Self Prophecies, which won't be explained until several chapters. What do you think?

**Review for me, please? **I want the story revolving around Artemis' journal and I try to avoid focusing on Raffles' character. And I am fervently working on her Mary Sue-ness. Is she one? Heaven knows, AF fanfic readers abhor OCs. _And_ AF readers are notoriously famous for being lazy reviewers. The lack of response from the first chapter is as usual, discouraging. Prove them wrong! I like this chapter's diary entry. The first moment he saw her. Pardon the hopeless romantic writing this story.

A big hello to **Francesco's Girl**, who I remember from **Mourning'**s reviews. Thank you for always being there for me *tear* I think I love you, lol.

**Reviewwww! **


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